Meaningless
by PinkRayBansandPorcelainPenguns
Summary: Cutter!Kurt. All the trigger warnings for self-harm. No smut. Kurt is being bullied and all is lost, where does he turn? Set pre/during NBK.


**A/N: **Hi Guys! Wow, it's been a while, huh? You really can't expect much from me, anymore... Too much life going on.  
Anyway, about the story. Some really harsh language, TRIGGER WARNING. TRIGGER WARRRRRNNNNNNIIIINNNNNGGGGGGG.  
I'm not even kidding. Based on personal and practical experience, for the most part. Hope you enjoy it!/

**-MEOW- **

FAG. One word. Three letters. There's really no meaning behind it. Meaningless. That's what Kurt told himself. Everyday, there were taunts, texts, graffiti on his locker, fag, fairy, homo. They didn't mean anything.  
He wanted to believe it.

Laughing, Azimio had Kurt in a full-nelson. The second-floor men's room was empty, save for Kurt, Karofsky, and Azimio. In one hand, Karofsky held Kurt's jaw, squeezing tightly, pushed to one side. In the other, he had a black sharpie. Kurt's eyes were staring off, his face completely numb. _There's nothing you can do. _He thought, holding as still as he could so Karofsky wouldn't punch him again.  
Karofsky laughed, "Check this out," He pressed the marker to Kurt's cheek. Carving thick, capital letters into the pale skin. 'F-A-G'.  
Azimio dropped Kurt and moved to admire their work. They high-fived, " That'll teach you, fairy." Karofsky growled, slamming Kurt's head into the wall behind him.  
Kurt stumbled and fell to the floor, curling into a tight ball, with his back to the wall.  
Without looking back to him, the football player left him there.

When Kurt finally stood up, his knees were shaky and sore. He caught a glimpse of himself in thee mirror and saw the backwards letter of the meaningless word. The letters were streaked through with with tears, and the "F" looked more like a "R"  
Kurt swallowed thickly.  
_Meaningless._

-*-*-*-*-

"Blackbird singing in the dead of night..." Kurt scrubbed at the letters, singing as tears trickled non-stop from his eyes. They seemed to have no effect, as his singing voice was crisp and clear as ever, and his nose wasn't even running. If you had seen him sitting in front of the mirror that night, you might have thought he was sweating or that the tears were fake.  
His solemn expression wasn't sad, just thoughtful, and a little pained.  
"Take these broken wings and learn to fly..."  
Eventually, he gave up, the skin around the letter rubbed nearly raw, and the letters themselves nearly gone, just the echo of them shadowing his ivory cheek.  
Kurt pulled apart the buttons of his dark blue Marc Jacobs jacket one by one, being as gentle as possible. He slid it off and let it fall to his wrists, catching it and tenderly hanging it over a chair. He curled his fingers under the skintight white, 3/4 sleeved Henley under it, and pulls up slowly, dreading the discolored skin he knows is underneath it. Pulling it over his head, he glances in the mirror again. _They're not __**so**__ bad tonight, _he thinks turning around as he looks over the many scrapes and bruises littering his torso. He knew where some of them had come from – The new one forming from Karofsky's drop kick to his ribcage this morning, the scrape on his lower back from 'falling' in the hallway on Monday – but some of them he'd forgotten about, or they didn't hurt enough to be noticed when they happened.  
Kurt slid off his pants and placed his palms on the floor, stretching the stiff, aching muscles in his legs. He pulled on a pair of soft, cotton sweatpants and sighed, looking one last time in the mirror at his shadowy skin.  
He laid on the bed, his fingers trailing gently over the meaningless letters every so often. He fell asleep that night tracing the letters.  
_Meaningless.  
_He was trying.  
-*-*-*-*-

Kurt pressed play on his iPod dock as he closed the bathroom door. He'd woken up an extra half-hour early to make sure he could clean the marker off his face completely.  
He turned the water on, full heat, and stepped in the shower. He let the water run over him, rolling his shoulders and wincing. He rubbed his fingers into his neck and groaned, his eyebrows furrowing. His muscles were always tense. Stress, fatigue, the fact that he was always tossing and turning... Whatever was causing it, it had given him yet another migraine.  
Kurt washed his hair and body, kneading every muscle with no results. He turned off the water and sighed, still just as tense and pained as he had been at the beginning. He didn't bother grabbing a towel as he stepped out of the shower. He pulled open the medicine cabinet and grabbed a little white bottle. He tilted the bottle and caught the three large, white pills that spilled out. With a practiced ease, he tossed them to the back of his throat and swallowed, coughing gently.

One last look in the mirror, and he knew cleaning wouldn't be an option. He sighed and pulled out his ivory foundation, setting to work on the meaningless word.

Twenty minutes later, he had it covered completely, and thanks to his theatre days the make up was barely noticeable.  
Walking past his father towards the front door, Kurt stared down, avoiding a gaze his father wasn't even offering. "Bye Kurt! Have a good day!"  
Kurt didn't even bother with a fake smile. "Bye Dad. Love you." he half-mumbled. He closed the door behind him and started walking. This was usually the best part of his day.  
Flipping up his hood and putting in his headphones, Kurt scrolled through his playlists. None of them sounded all that good, so he turned on the radio instead.  
Everything he turned on annoyed him. They were chipper, happy, top 40 songs; ones he used to play non-stop. Now they just got under his skin. He tried to listen to them, he even sang along to something by Usher... Or Drake.. or... somebody. He got about halfway through it before he felt like punching a tree.  
He swallowed and changed the station. It was just fuzz, but it immediately felt better. Kurt walked the rest of the way to school like that- and it really was the best part of his day.

Not that that position was a high bar.

He heard the crash of his body hitting the locker, saw the laughing faces of the jocks that had put him there, tasted the blood from where he'd bitten his tongue, but he felt nothing. No pain, no humiliation, not even anger. Just _nothing_. He stared up at the hulking, angry boys walking away from the "homo" they'd just tossed away.  
He wasn't sure if this was an improvement or not. Which was worse- indifference to yourself or a constant feeling of fear, shame, and humiliation? He debated it for a while before realizing he didn't really care about the answer. This was his life. The life of a homo.  
It was just a word, he reminded himself.  
_Absolutely meaningless.  
__  
_-*-*-*-*-

He continued that way for weeks. Covering whatever they'd done the night before, listening to his fuzz, walking through school numbly, taking whatever they wanted to do to him, and letting it all start over the next day.  
But then it all changed.  
Kurt felt something again- not quite fear, not quite anger.. More like complete violation.  
He pushed Karofsky away, eyes wide, welling with tears. He put a hand to his mouth, backing away and looking around the locker room for anything or anyone useful. Karofsky edged closer, backing him into a corner. He pinned Kurt's hands above his head and kissed him again. Kurt turned his head, desperately trying to get away, as the lump in his throat grew. The tears were blurring his vision, now. "No! You can't do this! Stop!"  
Kurt was hyperventilating, now.  
"I can do whatever I want, Fairy. You're nothing." Kurt felt like he was going to throw up. Karofsky leaned in again and kissed him, pressing Kurt's hands together in one of his own and into the lockers hard enough to bruise them. He unbuttoned Kurt's shirt and pushed it off his chest. Kurt squeezed his eyes shut and the tears fell as he realized he wasn't getting out of this. The knotted pain in his stomach threatening to escape.  
Suddenly, the bell rang. Karofsky broke away and growled. He turned and started to leave, but came back just as quickly.  
"Hey, Fag." Kurt stared down. "You tell anyone about this..." Karofsky made a gun out of his fingers and pointed it at Kurt's temple. "You're dead."  
And with that he left. Kurt ran to the toilets, sobbing over one until he emptied the contents of his stomach entirely. Once he did, he fell to the floor, back to the stall wall and curled his knees up to his chest. The broken sobs escaped his lips again and again.  
_Fag. Nothing. Fairy. Homo.  
Meaningless. Meaningless. Meaningless._

He let it all wash over him and rocked, back and forth, pressing his hands over his ears if only to stop his own thoughts from echoing in his head.  
His breath hitching every time he took one, Kurt looked at his wrist. What compelled him to do it that first time he'll never know.  
He took his index finger and pressed the nail into the pale skin of his left wrist. He took a deep breath, unable to look away from it for even a second. Pressing as hard as he could, he dragged the nail down, toward his elbow. A few inches down he stopped, pulling the finger away and evaluating his work. At first, there was nothing. Just the pale white expanse of skin. But then, a thick pink line began to form down his wrist. It was warm to the touch and bits of torn, white skin poked up from it. He had the urge to do it again, so he put his finger in the exact same spot and dragged it down again, following the pink line closely. Again, it took a moment, but soon, little dots of blood started to form in the line, and the thin, pink skin turned a deeper shade.  
Again. Again.  
The line was red and sticky, parts of it bleeding, and parts of just exposing the final layer of skin. Kurt realized he wasn't crying anymore. The sick feeling was gone, and a tightness in his chest that he hadn't even realized was there was now gone- he could breathe again. So he did. He just sat there and breathed, allowing the relief and tears just wash over him. He couldn't keep his eyes open anymore, so he let his head fall against the stall and stroked the red line, drifting off into the first peaceful sleep in a long time.  
**-MEOW-**

A/N: So this had been bouncing around in my head for a while now, and sorry if you think it's abrupt, but this is a oneshot. I don't think I could write more if I wanted to. This stemmed from there being so many stories about one of our boys cutting and the other swooping in to save him, and so often there just isn't anyone to save you. I wanted to show that side of things.


End file.
